


Like a child

by JAKishu



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Age Regression, Amnesia, Caring John, Crime, Hospitals, Hurt Sherlock, Kidnapping, Multi, Paternal Lestrade, Protective Big Brother Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 19:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10314962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAKishu/pseuds/JAKishu
Summary: "You can t remember who I am, right." Sherlock nodded. "I m your friend, my name is John Watson." No reaction to his name but he looked confused again. "Why should I be friends with an adult? My only friend is my brother and I don't need more. John finally sees the whole extent of Sherlock s amnesia. It wasn t only the last few weeks or a person, it must been years he lost.





	1. Twenty-seven

**Author's Note:**

> First time I post something on ao3, until now I had all my work on fanfiction.net. Finally I found a beta so I will start to post to correctet version of my storys here, starting with this one.  
> Hope you enjoy.

Twenty-seven days. It had taken them twenty-seven days to find him. John was angry, not really about the fact that Mycroft had needed twenty-seven days to locate the whereabouts of Sherlock or that his kidnapper had gotten away. It was that feeling he had had all those twenty-seven days. The feeling of being useless. John had not been able to do anything to help find Sherlock faster, he had not been able to help catch the kidnapper and the worst part of all was that now he couldn't do anything to heal Sherlock's wounds.

When Sherlock had been rescued, found in a warehouse on the docks, he had been unconscious. His body was covered in torture marks but the worst was the head injury. It looked like the kidnapper had tried to kill him by hitting him with a heavy object on the head.

They probably thought they had succeeded, because, when they found him, Sherlock looked as if he were dead, barley breathing and showing no signs of life, not reacting at all to anything or anybody. After Mycroft's team had recovered him, an ambulance had taken him to a private hospital nearby.

Sherlock lying totally still on a stretcher surrounded by doctors was rolled into surgery. And John was left behind, standing in front of the heavy doors leading to the surgery theater. Waiting again.

John had waited twenty-seven days to see his best friend again. Every night when he slept he had had nightmares. What was happening to his friend? Would he ever see him again?  When he couldn't sleep, his mind did the same as his nightmares, showing him pictures of a dying detective, screaming in pain and calling John's name to save him. Seeing Sherlock's injuries, his nightmares had been right, but the truth was worse than his dreams had been.

Waiting for news, John sat in one of the hospital chairs in the waiting area, as uncomfortable as ever. Those chairs were not meant to make you feel better. Three hours later, John now at his fourth coffee, let the cup nearly fall as a doctor came to him and told him what John had already expected. Coma. Sherlock was in a coma, the prognosis being quite bad: the doctor would not say when or if his condition was to improve. Even worse, they were not sure if he was ever going to wake up again. They had treated all his injures and Sherlock had been brought to his room. If John would like to stay by his side, he was welcome to do it even after visiting hours. This was surely Mycroft's doing, John thought.

John followed a nurse to Sherlock's room, a private room with a sofa in one corner. John knew he would be sleeping on this sofa for many nights. There was no way he would leave his friend alone anytime soon. Hours passed, John hadn't moved after he had pushed one of the chairs as close as possible to Sherlock's bed and sat down. Sherlock was not breathing on his own. He was intubated and John watched the slow falling and rising of his chest brought by the ventilation machine. There was nothing he could do to help him except wait and be close to him. Let him feel he was not there alone. That someone was there with him.

Every hour a nurse came in and checked all monitors and Sherlock's vitals. Even if no one voiced it, everyone was waiting for him to die. But Sherlock didn't die, he started improving. On the second day in hospital Sherlock started to breathe on his own. They extubated him but still gave him breathing support with an oxygen mask as his sats were still too low. But he could do it alone. He was breathing by himself. One machine less was needed. His eyes started to move under his eyelids as if he was dreaming.

In the night when most of the patients slept and most of the staff was on call, John started to talk, not about something specific, he just said whatever went through his head and read to him from the daily newspapers. Most of his sentences ended with 'please wake up, Sherlock'. His wish came true but differently to what John had expected. On the third morning in hospital, John was in the chair on Sherlock's bedside again, watching him as he opened his eyes for the first time in days. John needed a few seconds until his brain had made the connection: open eyes = waking up.

Sherlock's eyes moved through the room, confused and unfocused. As they met with John's there was no recognition and John lost the smile on his face. There was nothing. This wasn't the Sherlock he knew. John saw only confusion in the eyes of his friend. John opened his mouth to then close it again. After a few seconds he tried again. "How are you feeling, Sherlock?"

An innocent question to check on his friend's mental health. John didn't move as he talked but Sherlock started to move away from him, or better he tried. His body was too weak and it had to hurt a lot. "Stop it, Sherlock, you can't move, you will get hurt. More than you already are."

Sherlock looked at him with hate in his eyes. "I don't talk to doctors and you are not allowed to touch me. I want Mycroft to come and get me. I want my brother!" He screamed.


	2. I want my brother!

Sherlock continued screaming his brother's name and at the same moment started to cry. The most self-confident man John had ever known was crying like a baby. To say John was shocked was an understatement. He just stared and watched his friend crying and screaming Mycroft's name over and over again.

As the door opened and a doctor and two nurses entered the room Sherlock panicked, trying to keep them away. John woke out of his shock state and stopped the hospital staff from approaching him. "I will take it from here." John shouted over the noise. The doctor started to say something but John interrupted him. "I will take the responsibility. It looks like the patient does not want to be touched by doctors right now, so we will respect his wish, until we can discuss later what and how to do things. But first everyone needs to calm down." The doctor nodded and led the two nurses out of the room.

Sherlock was still crying and desperately trying to escape an invisible horror. John sighed turning away from the door the nurse had closed behind them. "Stop it, Sherlock; you will open your wounds again!" John's captain voice didn't stop the crying but Sherlock stopped moving and his screaming went silent. He kept crying silent tears though and frightened eyes looked at him. John's voice got softer. "I will call Mycroft for you, so he can come. He doesn't know you have woken up. You slept for a few days."

Sherlock sniffled and tried to find out what the conditions were for the strange man's offer. It was fascinating how easy it was to read him. John saw that Sherlock was waiting for him to say something. Knowing Sherlock, he had to give him a 'rule' which was easy for him to follow. "You need to stop moving around. All you have to do is lay still and wait for him without moving. I don't want you to feel more pain, okay?" Sherlock considered what he had asked and nodded in consent.

With a last look, John went outside still watching Sherlock through the window which was beside the door. He stayed in his bed not moving, except when he tried to remove the tears from his eyes and cheeks. John took out his phone and called Mycroft Holmes. At the second ring Mycroft answered and started like always very directly without any in his view unnecessary conversation. "Any news Doctor Watson?" John closed his eyes. "He… Sherlock woke up a few minutes ago and he is crying for his big brother to come and save him from the doctors." Only silence was heard on the other end of the line. Mycroft must have felt how serious the situation was. John would not call him if it was not a serious situation. "I will be there in 20 minutes, stay at his side." The call ended and John put his phone back in his pocket. He prepared himself to go back to Sherlock.

As the door opened the crying detective winced and looked up, following John's every movement. "I called Mycroft, he is on his way and he asked me to stay at your side." He said quickly trying to avoid Sherlock sending him out of the room. Sherlock started to ignore John after he had received all the information he was interested in. John sat down on the sofa to give Sherlock the space he apparently needed to be calm and not panic again.

Twenty minutes were a long time when spent in silence and Sherlock looked like he wasn't used to it. "Why are you here, you are a doctor but not really my doctor. That was the man who was here a few minutes ago." Sherlock asked. His curiosity was like it had always been, thought John smiling. "You can't remember who I am, right?" Sherlock nodded. "I'm your friend, my name is John Watson." There was no reaction to his name but he looked confused again. "Why should I be friends with an adult? My only friend is my brother and I don't need any other friends." Sherlock crossed his arms, going back to being silent. John finally realized the whole extent of Sherlock's amnesia. It wasn't only the last few weeks or a particular person; it must be years he had lost. Sherlock's behavior seemed to confirm this hypothesis.

Nineteen minutes after John had called Mycroft, the man itself came through the door, without knocking and without saying hello to John. As Sherlock saw his brother he started to cry again. "Myc, where were you?  I woke up and you weren't there. You promised to always be at my side when I wake up." Sherlock lifted his arms. It looked like a small child wanting to be lifted and to John's surprise Mycroft sat down on the bed and closed his arms around Sherlock. He pressed his little brother to his body holding him tight. Sherlock's arms closed around Mycroft's back with his face on the other man's chest, crying.

Watching this scene between Sherlock and Mycroft felt somewhat wrong, it was like disturbing a private party. After what felt like hours, Sherlock's tears stopped but he still didn't let go of his brother, but his breathing and heartbeat slowed down. The second one John was monitoring on the monitor. Mycroft immediately captured the whole situation. "Sherlock, can you tell me what the last thing is you remember, before you woke up in the hospital?" He lifted his head from Mycroft's chest, but still stayed very close to his brother and looked up at him thinking. "We were in your room and I was reading for you from my favorite pirate book and then you sent me to your bed. You said you had to do a few things before you could come to bed. And you promised like every evening, you would be there in the morning when I woke. But you weren't!" Sherlock sounded hurt and vulnerable. "I'm sorry Sherlock, something came up and I wasn't able to keep my promise." Seeing his brother's exhaustion Mycroft figured out what to do next. "But I will make it up to you. Go back to sleep and I will be here." Gently pushing Sherlock to lay down Mycroft sat on a chair and took Sherlock's hand. "I will be here and I won't let go of your hand, alright? I promise I will not leave."

Sherlock's eyes start to close, he was very tired but turned his head a bit to face his brother and fell asleep moments later. Mycroft looked like he was close to tears. "Why did this have to happen again? It's not fair." Mycroft laid his head on their intertwined hands.


	3. Again?

John watched Mycroft for a minute as he rested his head on Sherlock's and his hands. He had never thought he would ever see Mycroft show emotion in that way. Sherlock was good in hiding his emotions but John could always see them. Mycroft, the iceman, who never showed them, was now holding hands with his brother, close to tears himself after comforting and getting Sherlock to sleep. "What did you mean with 'again'?" John asked and a shocked Mycroft lifted his head. He had completely forgotten that there was another person in the room. John saw flashes of embarrassment, fear and resignation flouting over Mycroft's face. With a tender look to the sleeping Sherlock he set up scanning John's face as if looking for something. He must have found it and he closed his eyes as he started to tell a story form the past.

"I will start with the beginning, which leads to my brother being in the exact same position as he is now. When my brother was three years old, he and our mother went to London to do some shopping. On the way home, the cab they were in had an accident. The cab was completely destroyed, smashed between the guardrail and a truck. The driver was dead, thrown out through the force of the impact and lying on the street where he had bled to death. He was the lucky one. Sherlock and our mother were locked in the broken car. It took the helpers on the scene nearly an hour to get to Sherlock. He was covered in her blood, screaming for help. Someone, I guess one of the paramedics tried to get him away from the car and our mother but he only wanted someone to save her. You can probably imagine what happened. She was dead the whole time, died as she protected her son. Her body broke as she took the power of the impact, holding him all the time in her arms. Sherlock did not even have a scratch. He must have tried to wake her during the time they were trying to open the car.

As my father and I arrived at the hospital he was in shock, I think. He ran over to us and told us the doctors wouldn't help her although she was hurt and it was their job. He prohibited every doctor touching him, if before they didn't help our mother. He repeated over and over again 'the doctors won't help mummy'. He was young, too young and even a genius needs to learn what death means. He couldn't understand that our mother would never come back.

After the funeral Sherlock began to have nightmares, he woke up thinking everyone he loved was dead. He started to sleep in my bed to make sure I was okay and in the morning the first thing he did was check my pulse. That was something I had taught him, after he had asked me how he could be sure someone was alive. I didn't mind it; it was something that helped me too. We both were lonely.

It was always a fight when I went to school, Sherlock didn't want to be alone, so I often stayed at home. Our father on the other hand wasn't looking for a connection to another person, and he isolated himself from us. Sherlock processed the situation by constantly asking about mummy, looking at pictures of her and saying things like 'mummy said'.

One day our father couldn't take it anymore, when Sherlock once asked him something about mummy, he pushed him away. Unfortunately they were on the top of the stairs. Sherlock fell, crushed on the floor and lay there like dead. He had a broken skull and was bleeding out of his ears, mouth and nose. I came in as I heard Sherlock scream during the fall. I didn't see the fall, only my brother close to death lying on the floor.

He fell into a coma for six days and as he woke up the exact same thing happened as today. He also said the same things and the last thing he remembered then was that same day he remembered today. Back then it was a few months he had lost, this time he has lost three decades."

Mycroft had ended his story and was waiting for John's questions, knowing they would come. "Did he ever get his memories back or were they lost forever?" Both men looked each other into the eyes. "Yes they came back, but not while he was in the hospital. It was the first day we came home. As he saw the stairs, he fainted and as he came to again he told us he remembered it all. After that our grandmother came to live with us. To help our father. This was the official reason. She actually tried to prevent an accident like the one Sherlock had had. But Sherlock had stopped talking about mummy. He didn't ask thinks about her or looked at pictures. He also started sleeping in his own bed again. Getting some distance to everyone, I couldn't stop it."

John was surprised about Mycroft's detailed answer but happy he shared it with him. "If Sherlock refuses to let doctors close we need a solution, because he needs help." John said trying to bring more important topics into the conversation. "I will talk to him in the morning. He will let you treat him when I'm finished talking with him. Sorry, but I don't think I can get him to let someone else touch him. He trusts me and when I say you are his friend… it should work."

Normally Mycroft Holmes would at this point already be out of the door and getting other things done, like talking with the doctors, but not tonight. He stayed in his chair watching Sherlock sleep and holding his hand. John stayed too, even if he could do nothing to help Sherlock. Amnesia was a difficult thing to heal; the brain had to mostly do it alone. They didn't know if the amnesia was psychological in nature, that is a form of self-protection of his brain because of the kidnapping and torture or if it was a physical cause, a consequence of the head injury. It could be both. He tried to see the positive side. Sherlock was alive and had woken up. Everything else would take time.


	4. Mummy said!

While Sherlock was sleeping his doctor came in, slow and quietly. Mycroft explained to him that only John was allowed to treat his brother from now on and that the hospital staff should follow his orders. The doctor nodded and left the room again. Mycroft and John didn't talk after that; they didn't want to disturb Sherlock's sleep.

What woke him was a dream. The still sleeping Sherlock started to cry and scream like in pain. It sounded like 'don't hurt me' and 'I don't know what you want'. Sherlock opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was his brother who took him in his arms. Mycroft whispered in Sherlock's ears. "It was just a dream, dreams can't hurt you. You are safe." As Sherlock calmed down his hand was searching for Mycroft's wrist, testing his pulse. This action hurt not only John deep in his heart.

Mycroft tried now to speak to Sherlock with a look of authority in his eyes and his voice. "Sherlock we need to talk about something." Sherlock looked up and waited for his big brother to continue. "I think you already know that but I will tell it you anyway. You are hurt, you have a few very dangerous injuries and you need a doctor to treat you so that you can get better again." He lifted his hand to stop Sherlock before he could interrupt him. "You don't remember Doctor Watson here, but he is your friend. You can trust him. He will help you. Please let him look after you, for me." The adult Sherlock would have laughed at the last part of the sentence but the child Sherlock nodded and looked intensely at John as if to say 'I'm doing that because my brother asked me to do it'. "Good boy. Doctor Watson will ask you a few questions, please answer them." Mycroft said.

John although a bit surprised needed only a second to get ready and slip into what Sherlock called 'his doctor mode'. He started by assessing the GCS (Glasgow Coma Scale) level. He had opened his eyes spontaneously, so 4; he could speak normally and in full sentences, but he was disoriented as to time, where and when and he thought he was a little child, so 4; he was able to obey all motor commands, so 6. That made a total of 14. Not bad, but not good either. Patients were usually discharged when they reached a score of at least 15. John asked all the standard questions like name, age, birth date, where he lived. Sherlock answered them and from his point of view they were correct. In his head he was five, lived with his brother and father outside London. He couldn't remember his kidnapping, who had hurt him or the incident between him, his father and the following fall from the stairs.

When John pulled back the covers to start examining him and look at his injuries, Sherlock fought him at first but after Mycroft's intervention, Sherlock let John do his work. Next he pulled out a pen light and checked the pupils for size and reactivity. He then took a stethoscope and listened to Sherlock's heart and breathing. He checked blood pressure, temperature (with some problems as Sherlock only opened his mouth after Mycroft got angry at him) and blood oxygen saturation. Sherlock was not vomiting, apparently not feeling dizzy either, but he was extremely tired.

John wasn't sure, if telling Sherlock he was an adult would be a good idea or if it was better to wait and let him find out by himself. He decided the best thing was to let Sherlock do things in his own time and let his brain heal.

Mycroft's phone vibrated for the twentieth time or so and finally he sighed, defeated and turned to Sherlock. "I have to call someone; you will be fine with Doctor Watson, right?" Sherlock looked at Mycroft. "Is Daddy coming?" Mycroft looked back from the door. "No, Sherlock. Daddy is not coming."

The door closed and Sherlock looked sadly down at his hands lying on his lap. "Why does my brother have to call someone, Doctor Watson?" John surprised that Sherlock was talking to him had to think about an answer that would help a child. "You remember that Mycroft told you, you forgot that we are friends?" A nod came from the bed. "You forgot a few more things because of your head injury. Your brother has a very important job and sometimes he is the only one that can make a decision."

"I'm not stupid, I don't forget things." Sherlock's outburst was a surprise. "I know,  Sherlock, you are one of the most intelligent people I have ever met, but you got badly hurt and to protect yourself your brain locked away a few of your memories." Sherlock looked up at him clearly worried. "Are they still there? I mean my memories. Am I getting them back, Doctor Watson?" There was something like fear in his eyes. "I hope so and you can call me John. Remember, I am your friend." Sherlock leaned back to get a bit of distance between the doctor and him. "But Mummy said I have to call adults with their family names and title if they have one. Exceptions are family members but first I have to ask them for permission. You are an adult and not a relative so I will call you Doctor Watson, like my brother did." Spoken like an adult, John thought.

"Why is it important for you that I get my memories back?" John sighed. "I would be sad if you were never to remember all the adventures we had together, all the fun we had and all the silly things that happened during our time together." John's heart got heavier with every word, seeing what Sherlock's amnesia meant. John was the only one that remembered their common past now and how Sherlock had been; John thought about what it would mean if Sherlock were to stay like that: a child in an adult body. "It would be very sad if you were never to remember again how close we were."

Before they could continue their conversation the door opened and Mycroft came back. The look on his face told John that he had to go, probably to prevent a war or start one. "Sherlock, I have to leave you alone with Doctor Watson for a few hours, but when you go to sleep ask him to call me and I will come to you, okay? And promise me to eat something." Sherlock bit his lip to avoid crying but his eyes filled with tears. Mycroft gave him another long hug and left the room.

Sherlock looked smaller than before, lost. "What's your favorite book?" It was the first thing that came into John's mind in the attempt of distracting the detective. The favorite book of his five year old flatmate genius. Sherlock smiled. "Actually I have two. The first one is Treasure Island, it's very old and famous. It's about pirates and a treasure. I want to be a pirate when I grow up. With my own crew and a big ship. We can have fights with other pirates 'epic sea battles' Mycroft calls them. Sailing around the world." Sherlock's eyes became brighter with every word. "And the second one?" John asked. The smile disappeared.  "Won't tell you, you will laugh like the boy next door." This was an unsecure version of his friend who was still interested in the opinion of others and tried very hard to fit in. "Try me." John responded. "I'm not like that boy and I think a book title isn't the strangest thing that you have ever shared with me." After a second of hesitation Sherlock told him. "It's a book about bees with huge pictures and it explains the difference between the different kinds and all important information about every bee is written down." Sherlock stopped and waited for John to laugh but he didn't and that made Sherlock happier then talking about the books.

"I think, I know where they are, would you like them?" John asked remembering seeing the books somewhere in the flat before. "Yes, please." Big happy eyes beamed at him. "Good, than wait here for a second I will call Mycroft and tell him to fetch them on his way back."

Outside the room he called Mycroft and told him where in the flat the two books should be. He never thought much about them. An old British classic and an encyclopedia like the dozens that stood in the bookshelf. Mycroft promised to send Anthea to get them. Back in the room Sherlock looked happy. John sat down this time not on the sofa but on the chair he used during Sherlock's time in coma.

"Doctor Watson, what are you doing? I thought adults have a job or other work. That's the reason they never have time for their children." Curious John had to try it. "Oh, are you saying that you haven't already deduced everything about me?" John smiled, knowing Sherlock had done it. "What does 'deduce' mean?" John's smile vanished and he tried to explain it using other words. "Tell me what you see when you look at me, what it means and what it tells you about me?" Sherlock made a face, as if he was biting down on a lemon. "Mummy said it's not nice to tell people all their secrets and I should be polite and not tell everyone about it." Interesting John thought, there was a time Sherlock hadn't shared everyone's dirty little secrets with the whole world. "It's okay to do it with me. I'm used to it and kind of like it. I give you permission to do it, sounds fair, right? You saw I was a doctor the second you woke, you told me and I wasn't angry, right? You can do it again."

Sherlock thought about it and very carefully he started. "You were a soldier too. And you went to a really hot place with lots of sunshine. You got hurt I think in your shoulder, because you hold your body in a strange way. I think you had a lot of girlfriends but nothing too serious and you like tea in a special way. You are one of those people who like to read the newspaper and you have a sibling. But I don't know if it is a brother or a sister." John looked happy "Sister and that was amazing, not so scientific but really amazing." Sherlock's cheeks turned red. Embarrassed because no one ever told him things like that.

A knock on the door interrupted the friendly 'learning to know each other'. Sherlock pulled his blanket as high as he could to hide under it. It was one of the nurses from before, like instructed they waited outside for John. She brought an early dinner. John placed the food in front of Sherlock, he looked at it disgusted. "You don't have to eat it all, just a bit." John knew about Sherlock and his issues with food, so a bit would be enough for now. "Mummy said I have to eat what's on my plate." John understood now what Mycroft had meant by his story earlier. Sherlock, the child tried desperately to keep his mother close to him. Somehow keeping her alive by following her rules. "Your mother is right with that, you should try to eat what's on your plate, but you are in a hospital and as your doctor I can say it's okay today if you only eat a little bit. Just try as much as you can, that will be enough."

Sherlock looked at his food again and picked up his fork. It was all food easy on the stomach so as to not upset it, after an unknown time without any. Who knows what kind of food he had gotten from his kidnappers. Not much by the looks of it. Sherlock was thinner than ever before.

When John thought about the kidnappers a hot angry feeling appeared and filled his whole body. They were still in freedom. He wished he had five minutes with them alone in a room. They would pay for what they had done to Sherlock.

After dinner - Sherlock had eaten about half of it - he began to look tired. He tried to hide it from John.

Anthea was the next one that knocked at the door. She also stayed outside and waited for John to get the books and to his surprise a bag with fresh clothes for him and a box filled up with Ms. Hudson's homemade cookies. Sherlock, as tired as he was, started reading in the bee book. "Would you like some of Mrs. Hudson's cookies, she baked them especially for you." Sherlock looked up from the pages. "Do I know her?" He asked taking one. Sherlock sometimes forgot to eat and when he ate it was never much. But not even he was able to say 'no' to Mrs. Hudson's bakery.

"Yes you do know her and you love her like a mother and she loves you like a son. You don't have to believe me. Your life isn't so lonely. You have more friends and people who care about you, not only your brother." Sherlock didn't answer, maybe it was too much but he took another cookie.

The next knock was another nurse bringing Sherlock's medication. He watched it with suspicion. John sat down and explained it to him. "This one is your antibiotic, you know for what it is, right?" Sherlock nodded. "Can you tell me?" John pushed. "To prevent infection of my injuries." John smiled, even as a five year old Sherlock was just brilliant. "Exactly, it's very important. This one is something to take your pain away. It will probably make you a bit tired but sleep is good for you. And this IV contains lots of vitamins, fluids and other nutrients that you need to make you heal faster."

"Can you take it out, it hurts?" Sherlock asked shyly. "No, you need to keep this in a while longer.  I will change it now. I will do it very slowly, you do not need to be scared." John did his work watched by worried and tired silver-blue eyes.

Finished with that he offered. "Would you like to call Mycroft, I think you are going to sleep soon." "Doctor Watson?" He suddenly asked. "Yes, Sherlock…"

"You said my brother has very important work to do." John looked at him. "Yes, I did but he will come if you call and ask for him." Sherlock was meeting John's look now. "Are you staying tonight?" Surprised but happy where this conversation was leading to. "Yes I will stay by your side the whole time." John answered. "Maybe we can call him and I tell him he only needs to come in the morning. Than can he do his work and he will be here when I wake up." John pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Of course we can do that." He called Mycroft on his private number.

Mycroft answered the call very fast. "Has something happened?" The fear in his voice was clear hearable. "No, everything is alright, Sherlock want's to say 'good night'." John gave the phone to Sherlock. He didn't seem surprised about that piece of modern technology. This meant that part of his memory was intact.

They talked briefly and Sherlock really said good night." If this weren't such a bad situation John would film it. He got the phone back and talked to Mycroft. "Whatever you did, Sherlock likes and trust you, thank you for that and for staying at his side." The call ended before John could say 'always'. Sherlock was lying already under his blanket, his eyes starting to close. "Good night Doctor Watson, please be here in the morning." Softly tucking his friend in. "I will. I promise." Sherlock's eyes closed and like every tired child he fell asleep very quickly.


	5. Visitor

In the first week Mycroft was the only one allowed in Sherlock's room. He would come every morning; John would send him a message so he could be at Sherlock's bedside before he woke up. It didn't work every time but the young Sherlock felt such a strong connection to his doctor that every time he woke up from a nightmare he needed to check John's pulse. If Mycroft arrived after Sherlock had woken, his pulse had to be checked as well but it wasn't as necessary as immediately after waking. The young Sherlock needed this as a sort of safety blanket.

It was pretty amazing how long Sherlock could occupy himself with his books. John found out that Sherlock liked it when John read the books to him. When they came to the end of one John had to start from the beginning again.

Sherlock got more and more used to John. He wasn't suspicious about the medications anymore and he tried to eat as much as he could to make John happy. He would also let John examine and treat him without too much fuss.

The first other visitor was after the first week. Lestrade had to take an official statement and of course he wanted to see how Sherlock was doing. He would have come earlier but Mycroft and John had not allowed it. John had to prepare both Sherlock and Lestrade for the meeting. One had to know that the police was coming; the other one had to talk to a child in the body of an adult that couldn't remember they had worked together for years.

Lestrade knocked at the door and came in. "Hey Sherlock, how you doing?" Sherlock looked at Lestrade reading him like every person he saw. "I should know you, right?" Lestrade looked at John who was shaking his head. He hadn't told Sherlock about Lestrade. "Yes, Sherlock, sometimes we work together, I ask for your help and you come and support me." Sherlock seemed satisfied about this information. "Inspector Lestrade, Doctor Watson said you wanted to ask me a few questions." Lestrade was a bit irritated about Sherlock's politeness. "Yes that's right."

Lestrade asked just a few questions but Sherlock couldn't answer any of them, he looked disappointed in himself and when they were finished, Lestrade lifted the bag he had brought with him and pulled out a chess game. Sherlock's eyes become bigger. "I thought you would be bored by now. So I brought this game and we can play a bit. Maybe we can give John a break so he can take a shower." John was surprised but used that chance. Sherlock looked comfortable enough with Lestrade and he left the room when they were nearly done preparing for the game.

After John had had his much needed shower, he had a quick lunch in the hospital cafeteria and a coffee. When he came back into Sherlock's room, Lestrade was losing his third game. "Who taught you to play like that?" With a big smile on his face, Sherlock answered. "Mycroft did but I never won against him." Lestrade checked his watch. "Sherlock I need to go back to work. If it is okay with you I will leave the game here so you can give me another chance to win against you when I visit the next time. You can also play with John and Mycroft if you like." Sherlock nodded still smiling. The thought that Lestrade would come again and he had something else to occupy him made him happy.

John brought Lestrade to the door. "You are good with him, he likes you." Lestrade looked back. "I knew him during his drug time; he was like a child on his bad days. Nightmares, crying and sleepless nights with a scared child, found a way to deal with that. He taught me how to play. Stay by his side. We still don't know who kidnapped him or why." Lestrade's face changed from a smile to worry. "I won't leave him alone." John answered and locked the door behind him.

The next day Sherlock got another visitor, Mrs. Hudson. After she heard Sherlock had had a visitor other than Mycroft or John, no one could stop the old lady. Early that morning shortly after Mycroft had left she came in with more cookies, started chatting about the neighbors and her sister and Sherlock just listened. John could see that he was trying to remember her. The look in his eyes became sad and John couldn't help him remember.

Both men didn't need to talk much but Mrs. Hudson left a sunny atmosphere back in the room when she went again. Sherlock even asked her to come again and also thanked her for the cookies. Mrs. Hudson was surprised by the politeness the adult Sherlock seemed to have forgotten and hugged him on her way out.

The last visitor of the day was no one special, no one unexpected. Sherlock was sleeping in his bed and John on the sofa as Mycroft came in at around two in the morning. First John tried to go back to sleep and leave the two brothers alone but as he saw Mycroft's face he knew something had happened.

He started to talk to John while still looking at Sherlock and holding one of his hands. "It's my fault." John who had woken up just a few seconds prior didn't understand what he meant. He waited. "We got one of the kidnappers, a man called Kenny Church. After we interrogated him he told us they wanted information about me. They hurt him like that to get to me and he protected all my secrets and nearly died."

John wouldn't say a word. There was nothing that would help take away the guilt Mycroft was feeling right know. The two men stayed in silence in the room, waiting together without sleeping until another nightmare of torture would wake the sleeping Sherlock.


	6. Homecomming

Finally the day of Sherlock's discharge came. John and Mycroft had talked to Sherlock about it and the decision had been made. John and Sherlock would return back to Baker Street.

They didn't take a cab, Mycroft knew Sherlock wasn't ready for that, he told John it took years to convince him to sit in one again. One of Mycroft's black cars was waiting for them in front of the hospital. On the way back to Baker Street Sherlock was glued to the window. Watching people and buildings passing by.

Everyone in the car was worried what would happen next. If Sherlock was to never get his memories back, had he to grow up again and this time faster. A traumatized child in an adult body was not the best start. They had to wait and in the meantime try to live as normally as possible.

They arrived at Baker Street and the second they came through the door Mrs. Hudson came out of her flat hugging Sherlock who hugged back. "Welcome home, my boys are back." She nearly started to cry. They all settled down in her kitchen for a cup of tea and more cookies for Sherlock.

Sherlock who had been very nervous to see his new/old home had calmed down and enjoyed the atmosphere in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen.

After they had finished the tea John and Sherlock went upstairs, Mrs. Hudson stayed in her own flat and Mycroft had to go back to work. He left only after Sherlock had told him he was fine and he could leave but not without making him promise to come back in the morning again.

John showed Sherlock the whole flat, the living room, kitchen, bathroom and both of their bedrooms. Nothing provoked a flashback or helped Sherlock get some sort of memory back. Not even his violin helped. John felt something heavy in his heart, the hope he had had that their 221B home would trigger Sherlock's memories was lost. He was very sad and very worried. He sat in his favorite chair with a new cup of tea and watched Sherlock sitting on the floor in front of the bookshelf reading a book about animal tracks.

John had no idea what else could get him his friend back. Sherlock must have felt John's change of mood during dinner. "I'm sorry." Sherlock looked at his half eaten plate of pasta. "For what? You did nothing wrong." John answered confused about the sudden apology and wondering what had brought this up. "You hoped I would remember something, anything and now you don't know what else to do." John was again surprised about the ability of his friend to read his mind, or deduct it. "Yes I had hoped something would come up but it's not your fault, the men who did that to you, who hurt you, it's their fault and I will make them pay for it." John sounded dead serious and Sherlock looked up at him. He couldn't believe he had a friend like that. Someone who would protect him, who was at his side in his weak moments and fought those who want to hurt him. It made him really happy. He knew that to be happy about the fact that someone would hurt people for him shouldn't make him happy but it did anyway. The feeling that someone was willing to do such a thing for him, made him feel good. Happy enough to tell John he didn't have to stay in the same room tonight and he should sleep in his own bed. He promised to come find John if something were to happen.

John woke up to his name being whispered. He could see Sherlock standing at his door, a blanket around him and the light of the moon making the lines of falling tears visible on Sherlock's cheeks. "Doctor Watson, can I sleep in your bed, please?" A pleading Sherlock was never good and something John would never be able to resist. He lifted his blanket and Sherlock crawled under it. Sherlock cuddled himself against John, checking his pulse and waited for the bad dreams to go away.

"Would you like to tell me about your dream, it might help. I sometimes have nightmares too. About the war." Sherlock stayed silent for such a long time that John thought he had fallen asleep. "There were three men." He began, John could feel his body shaking and he held him closer. "They hurt me for a really long time and asked me lots of questions. They asked me things about my brother and I didn't want to give them the answers. They hurt me again and again and every time I refused to answer they hurt me more. Then they wanted to run away and everything went black." John knew exactly what had happened and in his subconscious, Sherlock too. The memories were still there, the question was how to get them back?

After having told him about this dreams John felt Sherlock fell asleep while still cuddling against him. He would have to tell Mycroft about the dreams. Not that he wanted the man to feel more guilt but maybe it would help, Lestrade too. Sherlock would have to describe the men in his dreams. But all this had time until the next morning.

The morning came and both Lestrade and Mycroft came in as Sherlock and John were having their breakfast. Sherlock had slept through the rest of the night without nightmares. The interview was much more productive than the last one had been. Sherlock had had these nightmares nearly every night and he could describe all three men perfectly. One of the described men matched Kenny Church who was already in custody.

As both of them had left, Sherlock stayed on the sofa, his half empty cup still in his hands. "Doctor Watson, why is the flat such a mess?" John had to look at him to make sure it was a serious question and lifted one of his eyebrows. "Oh, I'm the one that's doing that." He looked a bit shocked. "But Mummy said I have to keep my room tidy. Why don't I listen to the things Mummy said?" Sherlock was confused and stared at the bookshelf. John was going to ask Sherlock a lot of things when his memories were back, for now he needed to get milk from the shop. "I am going to get milk; do you need anything from the shop?" John asked, his coat already in his hand. "Can I come too?" John was so surprised his coat fell to the floor. "You want to come with me, to the shop?" John had to ask, that was absolute not Sherlock Holmes. "Yes, can I, please. I will be good, I promise." John smiled. "It's not about that, of course you can. I'm very happy about it. Then get your coat."

Sherlock jumped from the sofa and was downstairs with his coat before John could pick up his own. Still smiling about the fact that he and Sherlock went shopping, together. He should have known that something like that would never happen without consequences.

Both of them were in a good mood, they took the short cuts through the streets that John always used, which saved them around ten minutes. But before they had reached the shop a van stopped at the end of one of the streets and behind them a man with a gun appeared. John hadn't seen that coming. Too busy with the childlike Sherlock, watching him not to get lost or cross a street without looking out for coming cars. Had he been alone he would probably have fought back but Sherlock, well Sherlock, the child was with him, close to tears by now. So he lifted his hands like Sherlock and climbed behind him into the van. John let the other man tie them up and hoped Mycroft would discover their disappearance soon and send help quickly.


	7. Back

The van stopped and Sherlock was a frightening mess. He was panicking and crying. He wouldn't let go of John's arm or move on his own. The driver got out and opened the door for John, Sherlock and the man with the gun. They climbed out and were brought into a room with two chairs and a table covered with a blanket. John could imagine what was underneath it, he had seen Sherlock's injuries.

"Welcome back Mr. Holmes, and not alone this time." The man who had spoken entered the room and the other two moved to each side of their boss. The 'boss' checked on Sherlock and saw this wasn't the man he had had in his hands a few weeks ago. "What did you do to him?" He asked his men. The driver answered very quietly with something like 'nothing'. "And why is a grown man who didn't even break after a month of being tortured crying like a baby after a simple car drive?" He reached out to touch Sherlock. Sherlock cringed back and started sobbing.

"Don't touch him. It's your fault, you did that to him." This was the first time John had spoken since they had been kidnapped. "You nearly killed him and he lost decades of his memories. He is basically a child and that's all because you want information about Mycroft Holmes. I will tell you something about him." Sherlock shook his head pleading. John got angrier with every word he spoke. "He will come to save his little brother and nothing will stop him so you better start running now." The boss looked a bit surprised, not so much about John's words, but more about the fact that he dared talk to him. A fist landed in his face and John fell off the chair before he could react. Sherlock screamed John's name and his sobbing got worse, his breathing very quick now. Brave Sherlock had tried to hold back his tears for a long time but with his friend on the ground and the violence he couldn't stop them anymore. "Stop crying." The boss shouted but Sherlock didn't stop and his sobbing became louder. A fist landed in his face too. Completely surprised Sherlock flew back together with the chair and crushed on to the floor, head first. He went silent the second he hit the ground.

John jumped to his feet, panic rising inside him. He knocked the man next to him out of the way not caring what happened next. He needed to get to Sherlock.  He kneeled next to him checking his pulse, lifting his eyelids to check pupil reaction and examining his skull very carefully. It seemed like Sherlock had just passed out. Probably not only from hitting the ground.

To John's surprise no one had stopped him and he looked back to the three men who were watching him. “I guess we have to wait until our detective wakes again.  We will then start with you, Doctor Watson, you seem willing to talk about your friend's brother.”

They exited the room leaving John lying on the ground and taking the two chairs with them. The two friends were left alone. John was a soldier and a doctor, he had seen worse torture but still it hurt and he knew it was only the beginning, if Mycroft didn't hurry up. And it would become really bad when Sherlock woke up to see that his nightmare had now become his reality. John wouldn't lie to him. Sherlock was too smart and he could read John like one of his books. And lies wouldn't help anyone, neither a child nor an adult.

John didn't know how long he lay in the semi dark room. After what felt like hours Sherlock started to move and John was by his side in a second. "I'm sorry Sherlock I couldn't stop them hurting you. How is your head?" John used the doctor voice reserved for children. "John? What are you doing here and why are you talking like that?" With his tied hands Sherlock touched his head. "Could be worse after they hit me with that hammer." Sherlock looked up at John and saw two things, first that they had hurt him while he was knocked out and second John Watson, his brave army doctor, was close to tears. "What's wrong? Did they hurt you that badly?" John stayed silent. "Answer me, John." Sherlock got half up to see the face of his friend better in the dark. "You… you are… you called me John." Sherlock's confusion and growing worry was showing on his face. "Of course I have called you like that since our first meeting." John had to close his eyes for a second but as he opened them again, Sherlock was still looking at him. "You remember me again?"

"John, you are worrying me; tell me what's wrong with you." Before John could start to explain to his friend that he had lost his memory and thought that he was five years old or what had happened in the last few weeks, the door opened again and 'the boss' came back into the room again. Followed closely by his men.  "Oh Mr. Holmes, back to the living as it seems. Would you like to answer my questions now or should we continue where we stopped a few weeks ago? I must say I missed our little talks quite a bit." Sherlock was confused at the comment about 'weeks' but decided it could wait. He had missed something, something very important and his head was still thumping. "Your friend over there said something about amnesia because we were going to be ruff to you but I think you were just playing. You look perfectly fine to me. Shall we go back to the questions?"

Amnesia, Sherlock thought that would explain his loss of weeks of memories and why John, who although he was suddenly a prisoner together with him, and had been hit by their kidnappers, was clearly happy about something although he was now trying to hide it, albeit not very well. But now both of them were here, Sherlock had to get them out, soon. Or better still, Mycroft should move his lazy ass and save them. It was his fault anyway that they were here, in this situation. Sherlock was tired of pain, he was able to shut it out but John, it would hurt him to hear John's screams of pain. He could answer their stupid questions but that wouldn't save them, it would only get them killed faster. On top of that, he didn't want to betray his brother. He needed time to think.

"What makes you think I haven't got amnesia?" Think. An escape route or a way to buy them more time. Think. "Oh you might think you are a good actor and maybe you had me for a moment before I knocked you out but I can see through you, Mr. Holmes, the same arrogant face as your brother and now you will answer my questions or we will have a nice talk with your friend instead. You are looking too happy for someone who was in my care before. I guess I was too nice, it won't happen again." At the sign of 'the boss' one of his man got hold of Sherlock and the other one took John to the chair they had brought back into the room. They tied him and Sherlock could see the fear growing in John's eyes. Sherlock had to stop that, this second, but how?

There was no way he could fight against three men in his weak condition. Suddenly it hit Sherlock, he had lost weeks, weeks in which he had not been their prisoner. It seemed John had put some effort in getting him back to health. John always did this. Take care of him. He must have fed him and treated his injuries. The lesions were nearly gone and the bump on his head wasn't that bad either. The answer was easy: don't think, fight!

Sherlock moved his head quickly to his side, hitting the man who was holding him directly on the nose. The man screamed, letting go of Sherlock. How Sherlock loved this sound after weeks of imaging it, he finally could make them scream as well, make them pay for the pain they had let him endure and feel. Not even a second later Sherlock was on his feet, throwing himself at the boss and pushing him on the ground.

John only needed a second in order to react much faster than the other man who had tied him up. Jumping onto his feet with a half circle movement with the chair he hit the man from behind in his knees. The man fell down and John jumped on top of the man's back. After John was finished with him, he was in no position to move anytime soon.

Meanwhile Sherlock and the boss were fighting on the ground; Sherlock with his tied hands had no problem keeping up. John got rid of the ropes around his wrists and used it to tie up the man who was lying knocked out on the ground together with the other man who needed another kick into the guts. His broken nose was bleeding like crazy and both didn't move after John was finished with them. He ran over to help Sherlock and together they were able to end the fight. All three criminals were bound together and would stay that way. Well maybe John helped with that last part by making sure they were all unconscious. After all, it was the alternative to killing them for having hurt Sherlock. Both John and Sherlock set back to back on the filthy ground too tired to care, breathing heavily and waiting for their hearts to slow down again.

That was the position they were found in by the police and Mycroft's men thirty minutes later. An ambulance was outside the house waiting for them and the paramedic examined Sherlock. He gave Sherlock an icepack for his head and John a few stitches and bandages for his injures. In the time the paramedic was busy with John, Sherlock looked around. The police was busy with securing the crime scene, collection evidence and taking the three criminals away. They wouldn't stay long in police custody. Mycroft would take them to a very safe place. They would never see the light of a day again.

Speaking of his brother, as Sherlock spotted him, he noticed something very non typical for Mycroft. "John?" John looked up from the paramedic's work. "Why does my brother look like he wants to hug me?" John started to laugh not only about the innocent question, but also because of the face Sherlock made and the confirmation that he had his friend back. "Why are you laughing?" John tried to stop. "Sherlock he really wants a hug from his little brother, he was worried." Sherlock shocked and confused looked between John and Mycroft who was watching them now. "Why?" John smiled. "Oh maybe because he has gotten used to it after giving you hugs for weeks every time you needed one. Now be a good brother, go over to him, give him a hug and after that you two can go back to the strange sibling relationship you had before." Sherlock didn't move, John had to push him with one hand towards Mycroft.

It was strange to watch them now. As they had hugged yesterday it looked so normal but now… it was strange, they stayed like that a second longer then they needed and John was sure it helped both of them to go back into normality, whatever that meant around a Holmes.

Back at Baker Street Mrs. Hudson welcomed them with tea and cookies and as they finally settled down in their flat, John on his chair and Sherlock at the window, both sighed heavily. It had been a long time since they had had this. Only them, alone in the flat. Sherlock picked up his violin and started to play; music filled the living room and everything felt like home again.

Normally John would close his eyes and listen to the music but today he watched his friend in this familiar position, he had doubted to see again. "Why are you staring at me?" Sherlock asked as he finished the second piece. "I missed you playing, I missed you and I don't ever want go through something like this again. You made a lot of people nearly cry, you know. Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft even Lestrade was upset about you not knowing who he was." Sherlock turned around facing John. "And you?" John didn't answer straight thinking about what to answer, an answer which would explain all his feelings. "You woke up after I had feared you would never open your eyes again and you hated me for what I am. For being a doctor. You had completely forgotten about me and you wouldn't let me help you. I couldn't apologize to you, tell you that I was sorry for having failed you." He was close to tears now.

"Are you still my doctor?" Sherlock looked to the floor. He looked younger like that. "Of course." He turned back to the window. "Good. Because you are the only one allowed to treat me." He started to play again.

One of John's favorite pieces. This time John closed his eyes. Everything was back to normal. "You know I could use the stuff I know now about you now." John smiled, the music didn't stop and John knew Sherlock was smiling too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. And thanks to my lovely beta Sandra.   
> Tell me what you think.


End file.
